The Tree at Twilight

Down where the old roads run,

And songs are sung

As sweet as the red repeating Autumns

Well, I walked there once, in a dream

or a dusty afternoon

or a pair of broken shoes�"

I can't remember�"

And I bowed to the old oak tree, 

long and low

Because my bones 

were creaking like the old boughs

in the wind, and the wild branches

 like dancers

seemed fit partners for that final turn.

While the wind twisted round 

and round the tree and I, the light 

was slipping past mid day, into the golden hour, 

and because I was not young, 

not new, nor true, nor fair,

I was remembering 

the way I first sat among the old gravestones 

and watched my hair run silver, 

letting the grey warmth soak into my back

the day you left town in a truck 

that never did turn up again.

I stood among those roots 

to watch the light change, and waited

for the tree to extend its fragile hands,

their ends bent and lovely like old script.

I waited until the light ran 

like honey out of an hourglass,

pooling at the rim of the horizon as the shadows

bled out long behind all things 

And then,

Then only

as my legs failed and shook

Only then she chose to step from the bark,

all rust and amber and wood-smoke grey, 

Fair about the eyes, 

Half devilish, halting,

And swaying in time with the music

Author's Note

Any and all thoughts welcome. Thank you!

Reviews

[NotAboutMe]

Absolutely lovely. Feeling, emotion and imagery all gracefully painted in loving brush strokes.

[R. Goebel]

Thank you!